


Unfinished Business

by NancyBrown



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: At first, Ichabod thinks he is dreaming.





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



At first, he thinks he is dreaming. Ichabod has always experienced vivid dreams, focusing most often on the emotional maelstroms in his odd life. Dreams of Abbie are to be expected. Their souls called to each other over centuries, connected by a strange, holy bond. And he misses her. He doesn't mind the dreams.

Then he dreams about her during his waking hours. Sudden movements catch his eye as he is reading alone. A face on a busy street walks by, and he spins, sure he's seen her walking by. One day he trips getting out of a car, and he hears her laugh behind him, low and sardonic. But Jenny is with him some of these times, and she sees nothing, hears nothing, and her own grief for her sister is too large for Ichabod to dare risk shattering her heart open again. He stays silent.

Perhaps he is going mad. His own accumulation of griefs would tax the sturdiest heart. So many have lost so much, he sees in the papers and on the television, reads in the faces of refugees from other countries rather than other times. Ichabod has lost everything, again and again, and for reasons he does not name to himself, the loss of his dearest friend, partner, and soul's true mate has cut him to the quick, to the bone, to the very soul. A mind cannot survive torment forever.

"A therapist?" Jenny asks, more than a little worried.

"Yes. I've researched the practice, and feel that a professional, outside of a fully clinical setting," he emphasizes, "might be a helpmeet in my recovery."

She makes a face encompassing sorrow, compassion, and more than a bit of humor. "Best of luck. A tip: don't lead with the whole 'Revolutionary War hero' story, unless you want a ride back to the hospital, and I am not visiting you there."

"Your advice is accepted and appreciated."

But when he makes the appointment and sits in the comfortable chair and smiles at the new woman, the doctor who will help him, he hears Abbie in his ear, "Maybe start with that depressive funk you're in."

The next forty minutes are all lies.

Ichabod returns to him home, ensures he's alone, locks the door, douses all the lights but one, and sits by his table with a single candle. He closes his eyes, breathing in and out with as much calm as he can muster.

Then he says, "The last time I spoke with spirits, the aftermath nearly destroyed the world."

"I know," Abbie says. "But this time, we know better, right?"

All the air is gone from his lungs. "You should be at rest."

"No rest for the wicked."

His eyes fly open, and she's there, that same indulgent countenance he learned so well, memorizing every muscle of her smile. Abbie says, "That's an expression, by the way."

He can't speak. Dream, hallucination, or fantasy, he's sure a single word will break the spell.

She speaks for him. "No, I'm not sure how. Yes, I think I'm me in all the ways that matter. No, there isn't some wisdom from beyond the grave I've got for either of us. All I know is why I'm here. Our job's not over, Crane." Abbie leans forward. He can see the wall behind her. "Are you still willing to do the work?"

She places her ghostly hand over his. He can feel a tingling pressure where they touch. He rests his other hand lightly atop hers.

"Always."


End file.
